Of Course I Love You
by impossiblededuction
Summary: This is an alternative to the train scene from 'The Empty Hearse' from season 3, Johnlock, Rating may go up :) In this version, Mary hasn't come into John's life, not that I have anything against Mary (I love her!) but it lets the story flow a little easier
1. Chapter 1

Light from John's torch illuminated the walls of the train carriage as he searched in vain for the bomb. The terrifying thought that, hypothetically, both he and Sherlock could be blown up at any moment flashed through his mind as his anxiety levels began to rise. Fearing for his life was one of the things that John felt he could live without at this point in his life, but that was something you had to deal with around Sherlock. It came with the package.

"I can't see it- it's empty Sherlock." John said, turning around and dragging the beam of light from his torch onto Sherlock's form.

"You're just not _observing_ closely enough John" he replied, focusing his own light source on a spot on the wall, revealing a thin wire secured to it. Sherlock followed the wire along, until it disappeared into one of the window side seats. Kneeling down he inspected the fabric covering the surface, gripped the seat from the front, and wrenched it upwards. With a ripping sound, it opened as if it were a chest. Inside, neat wires were connected up to metal cylinders, leaving a sinking feeling set inside John's chest.

"This _is _the bomb, John, the whole carriage itself" Breathed Sherlock, as he ripped up the seat next to the first to discover the same metal cylinders connected with wires.

The energy seemed to drain from John, and he grasped the pole next to him to steady himself. He watched Sherlock as he rose from his crouching position, and carefully began to walk down the middle of the carriage.

"You-you should probably call bomb disposal" John said after him, turning around to see Sherlock prising up one of the floor tiles. As it was lifted from its place, the glow of a light leaked out of the gap. Sherlock dropped the tile on the floor beside him.

"oh ff- Jesus, Sherlock." John choked out, feeling bewildered as he stared death in the face. The bomb's detonation and timer lay uncovered, from hiding below the floor. The counter 2:30 was unmoving, and the _awful _amount of coloured wires and tubes spewing out of its surface was enough to make even Sherlock rock back on his feet and breathe heavily into his fists.

It stated with a flicker, and then all of a sudden the lights surrounding the edges of the carriage woke up, and filled the space with bright white light. I clunk came from the bomb below their feel, and the tubes on its surface traded their inactivity for demonic red light, signalling the start. The clock read that the time remaining was shrinking, as the numbers began their countdown.

Sherlock groaned and leaned back onto a supporting pole, his hands forming his distinctive prayer motion as he pressed the tips of his fingers against his lips and closed his eyes.

"No, no- this _isn't _happening. This is NOT happening!" John proclaimed, as he stood staring over the bomb, its timer declining as fast as John's own distress increased.

"Please, for the love of God, tell me you can stop this." John spoke hoarsely "Sherlock, _please_, diffuse it". Sherlock's eyes met John's, who were filled with panic.

"I'm sorry John- I- I don't know how" he replied, his eyes glistening.

"No, don't give me this bullshit, I know you Sherlock, you've salted away every fact under the sun!" John's voice rose with anger, his desperation spilling over the edge of its barrier.

" I _can't _do it, I-I I don't know, please, John, _forgive me_." Sherlock stuttered, as he stayed in his position, resting against the pole for support. Sighing viciously, hands to his head, John's legs gave up on him, and he slowly crumpled to his knees. Sherlock's eyes rested on John's form, and he watched as _his _John let go of his emotions.

"John" Sherlock said calmly, without a waver in his tone to express his own dread. John slowly lifted his head to meet Sherlock's gaze.

"Go, just run. Leave now" Sherlock said, as he gestured towards the open door of the carriage. John followed his motion and glanced at the opening, and without a second thought replied "No. I'm not leaving you."

A single tear fell down Sherlock's cheek, as his released a faint watery smile.

"But if I'm staying, you can't just _give up_, Sherlock. Please, think, use your mind palace!"

Quickly bringing his fingers to his temples, Sherlock shut off the world outside, and immersed himself into his mind. Information flashed through his brain, all irrelevant. Just _think, THINK, _John had said, he needed to save him. Sherlock did not much care about how other people perceived him, or the impacts he made on them, as far as he was concerned they were just there, and that was that. John was different. He found himself using _sentimental_ as a description for his feelings for him, as well as others. Sentiment is a chemical default found on the losing side, or so he thought. He realised that this wasn't quite true, not when it came to John.

Suddenly, _ah. _There we go. That's what he needed, _of course_ there's an off switch.

"I can't- no- I _can't_" Sherlock broke free from his mind palace with a sob. If he was to get John to forgive him, not for his 'inability' to diffuse the bomb, but for leaving him at the rooftop those two years ago, he would have to lie to John just one more time. He needed to be forgiven, for his own heart to stop hurting.

Sherlock quickly bend over the bomb, muttering aimlessly under his breath. He indented to show panic to John, that for once Sherlock Holmes didn't, _couldn't, _stop this. Locating the off switch within a few seconds, he pretended to fiddle with wires, all the time breathing loudly and making incoherent noises, and switched off the bomb. The timer flickered between 1:29 and 1:28.

Sitting back against the pole, Sherlock let his hands shake, and breath come out in shudders. He tilted his head up to catch John with despairing eyes.

"I'm sorry John. I'm sorry for all the hurt that I've caused you, I can't diffuse it, I don't know _how_." He brought his palms back into their prayer motion and added "please forgive me".

John's bottom lip trembled as his took in the sight of Sherlock, small as a child, eyes tearful and wide, his face clouded with misery.

John took a few steps towards Sherlock, never losing eye contact. He stopped when he was standing directly in front of him. Gently, he lowered himself so the two could be at the same level. He couldn't stop the tears from escaping anymore, John let them fall. What's the point in holding it all in, he thought, I'm going to _die_, actually _die_ in less than a minute.

"You were the best and wisest man that I have ever known. _Of course_ I forgive you" John breathed. In one fluid movement, John leant into Sherlock, wrapping his arms strongly around his narrow body, and released a choking sob into his chest. Sherlock returned this welcomed embrace with his own, resting his chin on top of John's head and kissed it softly.

John let his tight grip on Sherlock loosen, as he pulled back to gaze into his _extraordinary _eyes, which were even more amazing than before as they gleamed in the light. Their colour was undecipherable, but defiantly beautiful. Always beautiful. _His _Sherlock.

He brought his hands up to cup the radiant face in front of him. If he was going to die, he needed to do this at least once, he thought. John leant in gingerly towards Sherlock's face, keeping the eye contact between them steady. Sherlock didn't move or protest at this. _Go on John Watson, you fought in a bloody war for Christ's sake, _he ordered himself. Finally, overcome with urgency and realising there was little time left he connected his lips to Sherlock's, at last. Sherlock's long arms came up to hold John, and pull him closer, crushing them both together. Tears mixed with small sobs that bubbling from John's chest as he continued to kiss Sherlock. Finally he pulled away, leaving a dazed consulting detective gazing into his eyes.

"I love you..." He murmured, bringing Sherlock into a tight embrace. "I don't want to die" he said in a trembled whisper into his ear.

"That's good, because we're not" Sherlock sighed into his hair, enjoying the close contact to John he's missed for so long before he realised he's been lying. John froze, his muscles tightening as the realisation dawned on him.

"What." John said coldly, as he attempted to let go of Sherlock. He wouldn't release him, refusing to let his John leave him, not when he'd _just come back_ from the dead.

"Sherlock! Let go of me! What do you mean _we're not going to die._" Yelled John in the most commanding voice he could muster, trying to peel Sherlock away from himself. He was like a second skin.

"What I mean is that we're not going to die. Bombs have an off switch you know, I simply turned it off, it won't explode, we're safe" he replied, still trapping John in his iron grip like a vice.

"_You- _You lied to me! You lied to me! Why would you do that Sherlock, I thought we were going todie_, you bastard!_" He cried out, hitting Sherlock's arm in a weak attempt to release him.

"You can stop hitting me John, I'm not letting you go until you calm down" Sherlock said in his rich, velvety voice, chuckling slightly as John squirmed in his arms. "I didn't _lie _to you though, just twisted the truth slightly".

"That's the same bloody thing Sherlock!" John yelled, perhaps with a hint less aggression than before, as reality sunk in. _He wasn't going to die, not yet anyway. _

"Oh-Jesus Christ...I, er. I'm sorry about, oh god-um. _I'm not gay_" John managed to get out, as he remembered the events that took place just before.

Gently, Sherlock released John, and met his eyes with his own, "So you- did it not mean anything?" he asked, hurt lacing his words as he formed them.

"No, it- it did. I don't- _I'm not gay_, but it- _you. _You're different." Stuttered John nervously as his eyes dropped their contact with Sherlock and fell to the floor.

"You don't need to be nervous, John. I know you're not gay, neither am I. Putting labels to everything is just, so... _Pointless_" he replied, giving a flick of his hand to enforce his comment.

"So it meant something to you too? Or-"

"_Of course _it did, John." Sherlock cut him off, sending him a faint smile and releasing a sigh. "I love you too".


	2. Chapter 2

"You mean it?" John breathed, still spinning from the fact that he had finally admitted _to Sherlock_, that he loved him. Sherlock opened his mouth, when something must have changed in his mind, causing him to close it again, slowly.

"I- I don't know much about _sentiment_, John, but there is no mistaking the obvious facts when they're staring you in the face. My pulse, it's quickening just at our close proximity, and I'm finding it slightly harder to breathe which I am certain is not due to my intake of cigarette smoke because I'm still using my patches, so, the only other factor is you, John. Well, unless you take into account we're inside an old tube tunnel which could mean that there are a higher percentage of particulates in the air which could be having a negative effect on my lu-"

"Yeah, okay Sherlock I don't need a scientific report on the air" John cut in, before Sherlock took a route that could possibly end up in hours of scientific deductions and theories.

"But it's science John; sentiment and love are both due to chemicals in the body which cause a person to-"

"_Sherlock. _Listen to me" John sighed, as he shuffled closer to the detective.

"You are the smartest, kindest, and frankly the most _amazing_ person that I have ever met. I... Love you... Yes. I love you and I'm not afraid to let the world know. I know- I can _deduce_, you're nervous, maybe a bit... Scared? I don't- I understand. I know you, _feel_, differently to other people. I get that. Maybe the feelings I have towards you aren't exactly the same as the ones you feel towards me, but let me tell you, Sherlock Holmes. It's okay. It's all okay."

John looked up into the detective's eyes, and to his shock, found them glistening with the first appearance of tears. He had moved Sherlock to tears. _Sherlock. To tears. _Without a word, Sherlock brought John Watson into his arms, one hand resting on the back of his sandy hair. The two of them sat enveloped in each other's embrace, neither saying a word to the other. Words weren't needed. Words couldn't describe the bliss that bloomed within their hearts, to have finally _found each other._ Somewhere, within the crazed rush of life, time managed to slow down and capturing the moment that John Watson and Sherlock Holmes' hearts began to beat in the same rhythm, the same pace, and at the same speed. They had found each other, and nothing else mattered.

Distant talking could be heard down the end of the tunnel, and the light from torches flickered and bounced from the walls, but neither John nor Sherlock noticed. They didn't even notice when the police entered the carriage they were in. A shout from one of the police men brought them back to reality as the situation now at hand began to dribble into their senses.

"We were informed of a bomb in this area that needs to be disposed; please can the two of you exit the carriage now" informed one of the men standing near the exit of the carriage door. He was holding a large gun with his hands, supported with more men holding the same style of guns, each kitted up with protective gear and flash lights.

"I turned it off." Sherlock said, as he released John and stood up stiffly, holding onto the pole for support.

"That is not relevant, sir. Please may the two of you exit now" replied the police man, as he stood to the side, creating a path out into the tunnel.

"Come on John, I think we've finished here today" Sherlock murmured, gently taking a hold of John's hand and giving it a light squeeze. John gazed at their hands, intertwined with each other as if they'd become one already.

"Yeah, I'd say so" he replied, a smile spreading across his face.

Taking the lead, Sherlock pulled John out after him into the tunnel. Indicating for John to take the gap in the rails alongside him so they could continue holding hands, and the two walked back up the tunnel the way they came, each marvelling over the fact that they were a... _Thing_? Were they? Is being a 'thing' too specific perhaps, for what they were had no label. Soul mates. That suited, John reflected as the end of the tunnel came into sight.

Sherlock briefly let go of John, and in one fluid movement hoisted himself up onto the platform of the abandoned station. His shoes coming into contact with the unforgiving floor echoed around the room, bouncing and sliding from the walls as if it were endless. Quickly letting his hands ruffle his messy dark curls into some form of order, he turned back to John Watson who stood on the tracks below, smirking up at the detective.

"What is it" he asked carefully, looking deeply at John, trying to understand what was amusing.

"Oh, it's nothing. Just you being... You" He replied, chuckling slightly at the end and returning his gaze to Sherlock, who returned his smirk with an even larger grin.

"Would you, John Watson" he began, walking towards the edge of the platform, "care to accompany me" he continued, bending down and offering an outstretched hand to John "to dinner" he finished, smiling lovingly at the man in front of him.

"Of course" John replied, slipping his hand into Sherlock's, allowing the taller man to pull him up onto the platform, "Always".


	3. Chapter 3

The London air whipped dead leaves through the streets, its freezing temperatures causing hands to mottle. Still, life flowed through its heart as the British nation bustled along the pathways, eyes just peering out from under the layer of insulating scarves and coats. Within the crowds of people two men walked side by side, but moved as one. Both were dependant on one and other, and were connected in ways ordinary people were not.

Sherlock's hands were buried deep in the pockets of his great coat, which, made strange by the fact the temperature was so low, was not done up. On his left was John Watson who walked briskly beside him, in an attempt to keep up with the detective. His thin cardigan did little to preserve heat, and his hands had begun to stiffen. White clouds surged from his mouth whenever he breathed, which rose into the cold night like smoke from a bonfire. Leisurely, Sherlock turned behind him to ensure that John was keeping up his pace. Taking in the sight of the frozen man facing him with his arms wrapped around himself, uncontrollable shivers racking his body, Sherlock stopped walking and turned fully to stand in front of John.

Gradually it dawned on him that this dinner was technically their first date, and John was nearly frozen, a bit not good. Without a word, Sherlock shrugged his long grey coat off his shoulders, and pulled his arms out of the sleeves. He held it open, offering it to John, who smiled gratefully. Slowly, the smile slipped from his face.

"I-I can't wear your coat Sh-Sherlock" he shivered, barely able to form the words through his icy lips "You'll f-freeze".

Sherlock chuckled, gazing at John in wonder. _Always putting others before himself. _

"I think that's the least of your worries at the moment, John. You can hardly talk, please, I think you need it more than I do." He replied, stepping behind John so all he had to do was slip his arms in. In response, that is exactly what John did. He adjusted it to his liking, turned to face Sherlock, and finished by laying the collar flat out of habit.

"No. My coat, my rules" Sherlock said, interrupting John's actions. He moved his hands down to the collar and flicked it upwards in his usual style. "Collar up I should think, and you might need this" He added, pulling off his dark purple scarf. John chuckled as he thought; _Sherlock's basically undressing himself in public. _Sherlock looped the material over John's neck, and then threaded it through itself, just how he always did it. He took a step back to admire his work.

The coat only seemed to make John shorter; it trailed much closer to the ground than it did when on himself. The sleeves passed his hands, so only his fingertips could be seen. It was quite amusing, Sherlock thought to himself, that a man of John's height should be seen walking around with what was obviously not his coat, but Sherlock's. His height of course would give it away, for no one of John's height would possible buy a coat that would only make them look _shorter. _Aside from all that, Sherlock thought, John actually looked quite... _appealing._ He smirked to himself, deciding that the positives outweighed the negatives.

The lingering heat left on Sherlock's coat and scarf soaked into John, warming him to the core. The coat provided an affective barrier against the wind, which was blissful. John cupped his hands and breathed into them, capturing any heat that could potentially defrost the stiffness from the cold.

Noticing this action, Sherlock brought his hands up from his sides to gently hold John's cupped ones. From being inside his coat pockets for so long, they radiated warmth through his fingers and into John's clenched palms. Sherlock lifted their hands to his lips, and pressed a soft kiss onto each John's knuckles. The two of them had formed their own little bubble, and all that was inside was them. People walking past them on the street were unimportant, and any looks they received went unnoticed.

Sherlock looked up from John's hands and towards his eyes. They were closed, and a dazed smile hovered on his lips. In that moment, Sherlock decided, that John was the one. He would never meet someone as important to him as he was, and nobody would ever touch his heart in the same way. Although he may never have said so, before John had come into his life all those years ago, he was simply existing. He lived only because he _had_ to, not because he wanted to. John had changed all that; he's given him a purpose in life, something to strive for. As long as John was happy, he was happy.

Sherlock gently lowered his head and caught John's lips in a delicate kiss. John's eyes fluttered open is surprise, but he didn't back away. Sherlock's grip on his hands loosened slightly, as he closed off senses around him and focused solely on the way their lips fit together as if they were two puzzle pieces.

John brought his now free hands up to Sherlock's face and brushed his fingers gently up his jaw and ended with them draped loosely around his neck, just like the scarves he so often wore. The cold touch of John's hands brought Sherlock back to reality, and he gently released John's lips. He opened his eyes to see John's joyful smile and closed eyes. What a _child, _Sherlock thought. He glanced up quickly to observe the public's reaction, without much interest. A few passersby were smiling at the two, while others had looks of disgust smeared across their faces as they continued on with their miserable lives. Sherlock returned his attention back to John, whose eyes had now opened. He bent his head down one last time to graze their lips together briefly, before straightening up, adjusting the lapel on his suit, and drank in the cool night air. John coughed slightly before glancing around the street.

"So, how about that dinner you promised me" John said, turning back to face Sherlock.

"Ah, yes, dinner. I almost forgot that normal people need to eat." He replied, looking down at John, smiling broadly. "This way" he continued, walking forward leaving John to catch up to him.

"Sherlock, you're going to _slow down. _We aren't all graced with long limbs" he grumbled, jogging up to him.

Releasing an over exaggerated sigh, the detective slowed down to John's pace so the two were walking side by side. Subtly, Sherlock slipped his hand into John's and intertwined their fingers together. Electricity rushed through his veins from the gesture, enlightening the flame inside his heart with each touch Sherlock gave. New found feelings he didn't realise he had bloomed inside John's chest, threatening to burst it open. Sherlock's coat billowed out behind John like a cloak each time the harsh wind blustered against the two. He was very grateful for the defence it offered.

"I know a great fish and chip shop" said Sherlock "It isn't that far from here. We should be there in about... One minute and forty three seconds" He finished, as he squinted down the street, searching for their destination.

"A fish and chip shop... Sherlock, really?" John sighed, looking up at the detective. "You couldn't think of anywhere a little more, classy?"

"Why would it need to be classy? You like fish and chips don't you John? Fish and chips are good" answered Sherlock, still focusing down the length of the street.

"Yes, but... Not on our first date, if this _is _a date" he replied, pulling his gaze from Sherlock to hunt for any type of restaurant that looked as if it sold good quality food.

"Just trust me John, I know what I'm doing" Sherlock returned, giving the smaller man a large grin.

The fish and chip shop came into sight, just in time apparently, as John noted Sherlock's skin had lost all heat it retained; it felt like ice. With his free hand, Sherlock pushed open the door, and the smell of frying oil wafted out, drawing the two men in. They had not eaten for several hours, so even Sherlock felt excited at the prospect of food. Food was fuel. Fuel meant he could _think_ faster, which was always an advantage.

"Ahh, Sherlock! It's great to see you again" bellowed a short plump man with an extremely round stomach. This asset caused him to waddle when he made his way round slowly from behind the counter. When he finally reached them, he shook Sherlock's hand thoroughly, grinning madly.

"Jeremiah, good to see you too" Sherlock replied smoothly, offering him a wide smile. He looked genuinely pleased to see him.

"Do you know _everybody _in the London food industry, or am I just out of touch" muttered John, remembering back to the time when Sherlock took him to Angelo's.

"Who've you brought with you, Sherlock?" Jeremiah asked, looking up at John. _Finally, _John thought, _a man who's smaller than I am. _

"John" he answered for himself "Sherlock's, uhm..." he looked up at the tall detective next to him questioningly, realising they'd never _actually _confirmed their current relationship.

"Date" Sherlock finished. He didn't want to state things that had yet to be discussed with John, what if John changed his mind and decided that he didn't want to be with him. So for now he decided to stick to what he was certain was true, John was his date, for tonight anyway.

"Ahh, Sherlock" grinned Jeremiah "Congratulations! I never expected a man like you could-"

"Yes , thank you Jeremiah" Sherlock interjected, sighing slightly.

Once Jeremiah had controlled his excitement he took both of their orders.

"They'll be with you in a sec, the two of you behave while I'm gone" he said, giving them a wink, before disappearing into a room behind the counter.

"Well, he was... err..." John started, looking up at Sherlock, smirking at the detective's face. A soft pink flush had appeared on his cheeks.

"You're embarrassed!" John exclaimed, chuckling at the sight. _Sherlock was blushing. _

"I'm- I'm not _embarrassed _John" Sherlock stuttered, his eyes flickering away from John's gaze.

"_You're blushing_" he whispered, leaning closer to Sherlock's ear. He turned quickly to face John, startled by his sudden closeness. _Startled, _but by no means intimidated.

"It was just the cold" he claimed, meeting John's eyes.

John held up his hands in a surrendering motion, pulling a face which read '_whatever you say'. _

"I still think you were blushing" John said, smirking to himself. Before Sherlock could reply, Jeremiah waddled out of the little room carrying two portions of fish and chips wrapped in grease proof paper.

"Here you go boys!" he said loudly, passing the bundles over the counter, his large stomach proving this difficult.

"Thanks" Sherlock said as he received their food. He went to reach into his coat pocket to get his wallet and stopped realizing that John was wearing it.

"John, my wallet's in my left pocket, could you-" Sherlock began

"No, no, it's on me! Please, it's the least I can do, Sherlock" Jeremiah declared, giving a small bow to John's amusement.

"Thank you" Sherlock replied, giving Jeremiah a small nod and smiled. "I'll see you again sometime"

With that, he left the shop, followed closely by John, who gave a nod and raised his hands in a sign of thanks to the plump man left standing behind the counter.

The two were back out in the cold London streets, clutching at their hot chips for warmth.

"So, what now?" John asked, looking towards Sherlock, who was drawing a chip underneath his nose, and inhaling its scent.

"Ah yes, it's the quality of the oil, have you smelt them, John? Best chips for miles, I can confirm; I did an experiment" Sherlock said, eyeing the chip as if it were an intricate piece of art, and placed it in his mouth. "To answer your question, I know a place we can go" he said, through his chip "What do you think?"

"Well, as always, I have no idea where you're referring to Sherlock" John muttered, consuming a chip.

"Brilliant, this way then" Sherlock announced, and walked off in direction of the mysterious place he was talking about,leaving John to catch up.

After one taxi journey, and some walking down back alleys, the two arrived. John's mouth gaped; the sight he saw truly made his heart stop. Sherlock had brought him to a clearing between two old buildings which overlooked a sea of twinkling lights, the city of London. The scene was beautifully framed by the walls of the buildings, between which stood a bench. Why such a breathtaking place like this had to be tucked away behind the folds of old warehouses and run down shops, where nobody could find it was saddening. Still, the fact he was hear witnessing it with the man that mattered most to him in the world, rekindled the flame inside his heart.

"It's beautiful Sherlock" breathed John, as he took in the scene in awe.

"I know, that's why I made it for you" Sherlock replied, taking John's hand and slowly leading him to the bench. The ground beneath their feet was grassy, as if this place had once been a garden of some sort. In front of them stood a bench, a rather ordinary bench it seemed to John, but when he got a little closer his opinion changed. A silver plaque was secured to the top, gleaming in the light, on which the words '_For John, from Sherlock' _were imprinted. John's eyes widened in shock; _Sherlock had given him one of the most breathtaking sights he had ever seen. _A grin formed on John's face as he said "You did this, for me?"

"Yes" he replied simply, looking out over the view. "I had the building that was here demolished, it was abandoned anyway, I'm pretty sure it didn't _affect_ anybody with its removal"

"But..._When?_ We've only really been, _with each other, _since today" John asked, looking up at Sherlock, trying to look into his eyes but found they were observing the London lights instead.

"Before I jumped" he murmured " I wanted something left for you if I was actually killed from dismantling Moriarty's web, Mycroft would have shown you if I was unable to myself" He stated, turning his head to look down at John, catching his gaze and returning it with a small sigh as he thought back to those dark days.

Silently, John wrapped his arms around the detective's waist, and rested his head lightly on his chest. He held the bag of chips tightly in his hands behind Sherlock's back, not wanting to lose his dinner.

"I love you more than I've ever loved anyone in my whole life, thank you" John whispered, taking in Sherlock's so familiar scent.

"You mean more to me than my own life, I love you too John" Sherlock replied pulling John closer. After holding one and other for what felt like eternity, bliss eternity, Sherlock led him to the bench. They sat down next to each other, and gazed out at the view. John rested his head on Sherlock's shoulder, who in response drew his long arms around the soldier and held him tightly.

"You're the most amazing man I've ever met" John murmured, sighing in his own content.

Sherlock turned to John, and dipped his head down to kiss John tenderly on the lips. Their silhouettes were made striking by the backdrop of glistening lights, and the far off noise of cars beeping, and life moving drifted up like steam. People assumed that Sherlock Holmes was incapable of expressing love, but John could say otherwise.


End file.
